


Rosewater

by yanopuedomas



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: AFAB Bloodhound (Apex Legends), Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27752215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanopuedomas/pseuds/yanopuedomas
Summary: Every month Bloodhound finds themself on Mary’s doorstep. This time, she was waiting for them.In which Bloodhound finally receives the motherly affection they deserve.
Relationships: Bloodhound & Horizon | Mary Somers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	Rosewater

“Wonderful timing! I just put the kettle on.”

Bloodhound ducks their head, mumbling an apology or an excuse but Mary ushers them inside. “Come in, come in! Oh, you’re freezin’, love, is it that cold out? The telly mentioned a thing or two about snow but I admit I’ve been rather tied up in here- sit here, that’s lovely.”

They are seated at the tiny round table in the corner of the kitchenette, squeezing into a tight space surrounded by empty teacups and dog-eared textbooks. Mary is a beam of sunlight even at this unholy hour; messy hair tucked into a hasty ponytail, fitted in a loose burgundy argyle sweater that had definitely seen better days. They recognize the sweatpants adorned with the insignia of her old workplace. Her _thinking trackies_ , she affectionately called them, and they realized she must have indeed been cooped up inside all day.

“Ah, look at ya,” she places a mug of tea between their hands, “you’re shiverin’ something awful! Let’s get you warmed up.”

“I won’t stay long,” they try.

“Oh none of that, you’re always welcome,” Mary pours a second cup of tea, excited hands spilling some onto the countertops. “Oh- oh! Whoopsie, that’s not where that goes.”

She bustles about the kitchen, snapping drawers open and closed finding something to mop up the mess. Bloodhound cinches their fingers tightly around the ceramic, the heat gradually thawing the chill. Their body still aches from training - a throbbing shoulder from a hard fall, a sore wrist from archery. Every cell in their body feels tight and uncomfortable.

But it’s warm inside Mary’s modest studio. The heater is always cranked to maximum and today the air smells of herbs and honey. The first sip of tea fills their mouth with chamomile and lavender, unsweetened and earthy.

“How’s the salve been treating you?” she prompts among her return, tugging a stool close. Bloodhound watches her tuck her feet under her knees, eyes bright when she says, “It works miracles, doesn’t it?”

They look down. Their knuckles are still red but their fingers had recovered beautifully by the medicinal balm she lent them only a week ago.

“Yes. Thank you again,” they touch the soft skin, “apologies, I would have brought it with me had I known I would come over. Tomorrow I’ll return it.”

“Ah, sorry dear, afraid I won’t make it to training tomorrow,” she winces, “been called away to the labs. Reckon those twats have broken something again.”

“I see,” they say quietly.

Mary’s head tilts. “Look at me, love?”

Bloodhound drags their eyes to hers.

“Hm.” Taking her cuppa in one hand, she pushes their locks from their brow to press her palm upon it. Bloodhound stills immediately, rounding eyes watching her in silence.

Twisting her lips with thought, she retracts. Their skin is warm where her palm once lay. Perhaps it only feels that way because the rest of them had gone numb.

“No fever,” she exclaims, “well, that’s a relief! Forgive me for sayin’ so but you look a bit peaky. They’ve been runnin’ you lot too hard out there, haven’t they?”

They open their mouth but something is swelling in their throat. They try again and their voice is rough, “I feel fine.”

They can’t tell if she’s convinced. She hums and takes a sip of her tea in a fashion Bloodhound can only describe as _dainty_. She’s as graceful and sprightly as a butterfly in spring, eyes already wandering behind them.

“I have something for you,” she says and rises to her feet, “don’t go anywhere! I’ll be back in a tic.”

As if there were anywhere else they would rather be. Mary rushes into the only other room, her bedroom, returning with a small cardboard box clearly once used for moving. Bits of packing tape clung to the side but what intrigued them were its overflowing colorful contents.

“Now, I might’a gone a li’l overboard,” she excitedly puts it down in front of them, “an’ don’t force yourself to hold onto the stuff you don’t want. But! I wanted to put together a wee care package of my own for ya.”

Upon closer inspection, Bloodhound spies a familiar bottle of painkillers, several neon speckled boxes, and more unidentifiable objects. They remove the first thing their eyes draw to - a turquoise netted ball. It’s terribly squishy and when they hold it with force the ball pops through the net, swelling into a satisfactory bubbles that shrink when they release it.

“What,” they couldn’t help but do it again, “is this?”

“That’s a stress ball!” She clenched a fist like she was holding one too. “Ya squeeze the daylights out of it when somethin’s giving ya the piss and it takes the edge off. Specifically, I had that blether Witt in mind. Such a darlin’ boy he is but a bit of ‘im goes a long way."

How right she was. They had never been prone to headaches until they met Elliot.

Reluctantly they put it aside to reach next for one of the many bright thin boxes to discover they were in fact candy. White and milk chocolate, cherry ropes of spun sugar, small sour sweets, and many more treats Bloodhound was unfamiliar with.

“Some of my personal favorites,” Mary prompts, “and of course, lots of chocolate. Hope ya got a sweet tooth!”

They weren’t sure if they did but they were keen to find out. Already their stomach was stirring but they pried their attention back to the box. There were so many items left; they sorted carefully. There was a comedy movie, cherished and hand-picked, along with a great assortment of tiny glass bottles.

“That,” she leans forward and plucks out the painkillers, “is for when _these_ don’t work, ya ken?”

“Is this,” they began slowly, “liquor?”

“Aye! Only the best. Hate to say they don’t bottle mead like this but I found ya some honey whiskey that kicks the same. Plus some schnapps, ‘tis the season and all that. Peppermint flavored! You’ll love it. Goes fantastic with hot cocoa if ya fancy.”

Their lips twitched upwards. Gently placing the delicate bottles at the bottom of the box where they couldn’t tumble about, they reached next for a box of markers. Thick, bold, scented - they blinked owlishly until she jabbed at a thin booklet tucked in the corner of the box.

“Those are for this!” She pulls it out and flips it open, revealing pages of intersecting wavy lines dotted with tiny symbols, “ _Ah_ , now this was the ultimate boredom-smasher! It’s called color by number, it’s real simple. It tells ye which color to use for which number an’ it makes a real pretty picture once you finish. I can’t tell ya how many of these books I’d fill on my trips into orbit, wager I could fill a small museum.”

A gallery full of Mary’s art. Bloodhound would like to see it. Their eyes aren’t working properly though, there’s a blur at the edges and they have to blink harder than normal. Carefully they tuck away the gifts into the worn box, safe and snug so they couldn’t possibly be disturbed. They can’t look up, not yet, because their eyes are still burning and they can’t understand why they can’t breathe. 

“Oh, oh.”

Mary’s voice is impossibly sweet in their ears. It’s richer than syrup but Bloodhound chokes like it’s smoke and, Allfather _help_ them, their tears begin to spill. They wipe their cheeks with the back of their wrist, a dry rough scrape, but her hand slides onto their face, fingers curling behind their neck as the pad of her thumb rests upon their cheekbone.

“There we are, love,” her voice is as melodic as a song, “you’re alright, I’ve gotcha.”

They can’t look at her. Their head bows and their eyes squeeze shut in shame but suddenly Mary is closer, drawing an arm around them so grounding they realize she’s still speaking.

“You’ve been workin’ yourself far too hard, darlin’, it’s not good for ya,” she tells them and they feel smaller in her arms, “it’s okay, you can relax now. No one ya need’ta impress, ‘right?”

She’s right - there are no cameras, no staring gazes, absolutely nothing keeping them from sinking into her arms so they do. There’s a hum and she pets their hair gently, not as if they were delicate but as though they were valuable, something worth protecting.

For the first time in their life, surrendering feels _good_. For just a minute, a moment, they can lose themself in it all - her small hands cradling their face, the solid warmth of her skin where it meets theirs, the tender words she murmurs that slip through the cracks of their reserve.

“What happened today, pup?” her hand weaves into their unkempt hair, fingertips gliding over a silver bead.

“Everything.”

They don’t want to talk. Speaking means hearing the way their voice cracks down the middle, losing half an octave only to try to reclaim it halfway through.

She tucks the slender braid behind their ear. “Ya tired, pet?”

So tired it hardly feels like a word. Helplessly they nod.

“Aye, no doubt. Ye can only run yourself ragged so long,” she sighs wistfully, “I dunno how you lot do it. You’re made of somethin’ real special, I can feel it. Like stardust,” and she drops a kiss onto their forehead.

Their lungs seize. Anxiously they slide their fingers over the heart monitor at their hip but it isn’t indicating anything is wrong. It has to be inaccurate.

She dries their cheeks with her thumbs until they can breathe steadily again. Their eyes are burned and bleary as they blink up. “I’m sorry.”

“Ah-ah,” she tsks, “none of that now. Don’t got a thing to apologize for, you hear?”

“You have been busy all day and I-” their voice catches, “I’m so sorry.”

She hushes them quiet. There is a trembling in their hands that they can’t stifle but she doesn’t mind. They are safe here. From the public, from the Legends, from themself.

They push their face into her throat and close their eyes. She rocks them in her arms, slowly and tenderly, like a mother would her child and a comfortable numbness overcomes them.

“Always takin’ care of others,” she sighs wistfully, “never takin’ care of yourself.”

Pulling away is agony but they have already overstayed their welcome. They look down at the box again and their fingers curl around it possessively like the gifts may disappear.

“I think what you need,” Mary’s head tilts in thought, “is a lovely night in. Can ya do somethin’ for me?”

They nod before they even realize they’re doing so. Anything.

“See these?” She takes a blue and green ball wrapped in tight plastic, “After you have yourself a nice hot meal tonight, pop one o’ these buggers into a warm bath and wait a bit. It’ll turn the water different colors and I promise you’ll _love_ the way it smells. This one here is my favorite kind. Eucalyptus and sage,” she read off the packaging, “it’s _divine_.”

She looks up at them with a wink. “Can I trust ya to do that for me?”

“Yes.”

Bloodhound can’t remember the last time they had a proper bath. Showers were quick, a convenient way to scrub clean after a long game so they could pass out in bed for the next century. They never found the act of _getting clean_ relaxing, but perhaps with Mary’s advice it would go differently. After all, the packed powder had a wonderful scent even from this distance.

She reaches for their hand and doesn’t recoil at the raised scars. “Good. An’ I want you in there at least a good half hour, y’hear? Best bring a good book.”

They can’t remember when they started smiling. “I know just the one.”

“Oh! I know that face,” she exclaims, “you’ve finished another, haven’t ye?”

“It was difficult to put down.”

“Stars _above_ , at this rate you’ll finish the series before I do!” she moans, “Ach, that’s what I get for locking myself in the labs all day. I’ll catch up to ya, you devil, that’s a promise.”

The labs. They had nearly forgotten.

“When,” they have to clear their throat, “will I see you next?”

“Come by tomorrow,” Mary says suddenly and they feel their heart stop in their chest.

Thickly they echo, “Tomorrow?”

“Aye,” she insisted, her eyes bright like Christmas lights, “you can return that salve and I can teach ya to make it yourself. It’s actually not so hard if ye don’t mind a bit of tedious tactile work. Deal?”

_Tomorrow._

“You’ll have been working all day,” they urge, “please do not go through such trouble for me. I would be more than happy to return another time.”

“ _Ah_ , sweet thing,” she laughs out, “you think too much! Dinnae worry ‘bout a thing, seein’ you after puttin’ up with those lab rats all day will be a treat.”

Bloodhound’s lips part even though they can’t summon the words to agree. “But.”

Mary gives a pair of small _tsk-tsk_ s, ceasing them. “Wouldn’t say so if I didn’t mean it. Now don’t let your tea go cold, yer still lookin’ a bit peely-wally and I’m not sendin’ ya home til I see some color in those cheeks.”

From outside there came a great screech, abrupt and cutting through the stillness of the night. Mary startles in her seat.

“My apologies,” they glance out the window with a wince, “he isn’t used to being left alone so long.”

“Shrill for such a small thing,” she laughs, “poor love sounds like he misses you.”

“He is spoiled.”

“For good reason,” Mary inclines, “such a good friend is priceless, ‘specially so far from home. Ah, dinnae what I’d do without my Newtie by my side, seems the only thing keepin’ me sane most days.”

Bloodhound raised their tiny cup of tea. “To loyal companions.”

She followed suit. “New and old. _Skål_.”

Bloodhound hid their smile behind the lip of their teacup. “ _Skål_.”

They feel warm inside and out by the time the kettle is empty. Artur returns with a series of hearty caws that surely woke anyone nearby but Mary only giggles with delight.

“Reckon he thinks I’ve kidnapped ye?”

“Certainly sounds so,” they sigh, “I should leave before he begins tearing something apart.”

Together they repack Bloodhound’s box of gifts but they can’t help but linger in the doorway, unable to quite brace for the outside.

“Now remember,” Mary prompts them, “hot meal with a yummy dessert, a long bath, and a good night’s sleep. Understand?”

They nod.

“Good!” she sticks out her littlest finger, “now pinky swear on it.”

They have seen this tradition before - when Rampart promises Elliot a tech upgrade for his extended magazine, when Octane bribes his way out of spending the night behind bars for being a public nuisance. It’s familiar and fuzzy and they feel like they’re broaching something untouchable as they latch their finger with hers.

“Get home safe, love,” she tells them and places a palm on their cheek, so warm they think they could melt beneath it, “y’hear?”

She pulled away but Bloodhound swore they could feel her hand on their cheek for the rest of the night.

_Tomorrow._


End file.
